It is under stressful conditions that I attempt an escape from the entrapment I find myself in. This grey and torrid clashing of the internals, I find to be terribly unfit for early spring weather. The two are similar though, when you think about it. Awkward infighting and awkward weather. They make such a wonderful couple.
Problems...
Like an awakened Mt Vesuvius, poised to swallow all of Pompeii with its fury, the merciless force of destruction has finally descended upon me, hell bent to break the soul within.
When unleashed, the forces of heavens and earth combined will be powerless to stem the tide.
Submission..
Despite the soft optimism sprung from those green patches outside, despite the subtle bloom in the sea of dry sand, the land remains eerily calm, as though awaiting its impending doomsday.
...but no, the day of apolyptical doom will not befall, not yet.
They know.
When every sap of energy amounts to nothing...
What of the lush miracles of life that number up to the thousands among hopefuls?
What of the unavoidable desire for the dancing petals?
They remain, of course
unemotional, distant; a perplexing group of entities who are (and at the same time) are not part of this surreal universe.
Tiresome to dissect, they make up the paradox of his make-believe conundrum.
The grass, still unfazed by melodies and touch.
The thorns, still alert and seducing.
The long dark cloud,
still hanging over him.
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